


ALT MAG 200 A

by wordsphoenix



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Hill Top Road, I'm legitimately trying but this isn't it, M/M, That's it, This is my bid for saddest ending, actual statement in here though, don't worry I'm trying to write a happy ending, offering the false sense of closure I need to keep me sane until this happens for real, podcast format, so until then sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:46:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Statement of Jeremy Kane regarding the disappearance of his house. Original statement given May 3rd, 2021. Audio recording by Martin Blackwood, Head Archivist, the Magnus Institute, London.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	ALT MAG 200 A

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I used 'John' in here cause I wrote it before the fanfiction sucked me in real good so I haven't decided which spelling I like so just, uh, take this and I'll change it later if I decide to just go all in.
> 
> I am so sorry but to be fair I warned you

[INT MAGNUS INSTITUTE, MARTIN’S OFFICE, 2023]

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

MARTIN

-coming in here when I’m recording, you know.

[MEOWS]

MARTIN

Alright, fine. But you have to behave. The recorder’s on, after all. That means this is a good one. Let me just turn that mic off- there we go. Not like the computer will pick anything up, anyway. ( _clears his throat_ ) Right. Statement of Jeremy Kane regarding the disappearance of his house. His entire- okay. Statement given May 3rd, 2021. Audio recording by Martin Blackwood, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

MARTIN (STATEMENT)

I don’t know why I came here, to be honest. Everyone I’ve told about this thinks I’m crazy, so it’s not like I don’t expect you all to think the same thing. But I thought, if anybody could help, it’s those guys. I mean, I’ve only heard about you in passing, but that doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re all who’s left to tell, so here I am.

Nothing weird happened before, you have to understand. There were no signs pointing to something off, no whiff of danger, nothing uncanny. Up until the very moment it happened everything seemed normal. I went out to get groceries at about one, on a Sunday. Yeah, I know, bad idea, but I still had a job back then so it was the only time I could find to do it. Nothing amiss at the Tesco either. Just a bunch of tired, irritated people trying to get this done and over with so they could do it all again next Sunday. I paid, got in my car, and headed back.

That, of course, is when I realized that my house was gone.

At first I thought I’d taken a wrong turn. It was cloudy and I hadn’t really been paying attention, nor had I lived there for very long, so I figured it was just user error, pulled over, made sure I knew where I was, and tried again. I mean, I was on the right street, I was on Hill Top Road.

MARTIN

( _inhales_ ) Suppose a house disappearing is better than the alternative.

[MEOWS]

MARTIN

We ought to name you Gerry. [ _pause for_ MEOWS] Right. Anyway. ( _clears throat_ ) Statement resumes.

MARTIN (STATEMENT)

I was on Hill Top Road. I was on my street. So I turned around and drove down again. Nothing. And I don’t mean there was a pile of smoking rubble where my house used to be. I mean it just wasn’t there- not like it had been sucked up by aliens or something like that. It was like it had never been there in the first place. I must’ve gone down the street four or five times before I pulled over properly again and decided to get out and walk.

I try to walk a little every day. It makes it easier for me to know where I am, given I’d only lived there a month. Get accustomed to my surroundings. And after a month I fancied I had a pretty good idea what was where, which fading shutters were across the street from whose bad landscaping. Except, getting out and walking, I realized that the sun-bleached yellow paint I expected to find just to the left of my own house wasn’t there anymore either. It was gone, just like- well, just like my house. I don’t know if ‘gone’ is the right word. The houses didn’t feel unfamiliar or wrong. It was the details that were off. Like different people lived in the houses. But I can’t stress this enough: it did not feel like anything was wrong. Even though it looked like different people lived in the houses, even though different yards were overgrown from the ones I remembered, it didn’t feel like they weren’t the same houses. It was like-

Okay, if you don’t think I’m mad by now you definitely will after this. It was like I had stepped into a different time, or maybe a different world, where the place was the same but for the existence of my house.

After my first walk down I knew what I was looking for and went by very slowly, cataloging all the details even though I knew in the back of my mind that wasn’t going to help. Same houses, different owners, okay, fine. But where was my house? The house numbers looked the same, though I can’t tell you if they were exactly. It isn’t something I was memorizing on my walks, and short of seeing that the house numbers immediately to my own house’s left and right weren’t there at all, I couldn’t tell you if the other numbers were any different.

That was when I decided, hell, why not, maybe I should go up and ask after my own house number. The street was quiet, but it felt normal. I can’t stress that enough. Everything felt normal. It all felt like it was as it was as it should be. Nothing off, nothing wrong, not even a faint sense of foreboding. I didn’t think when I went up the door was going to be answered by a puppet or something like that, didn’t expect someone to jump out of the bushes and reveal I was part of some sick social experiment. I just expected to knock on the door and have it be opened by a normal person.

And it was. I took a deep breath and went up the steps to one of the houses that felt particularly welcoming, 6113, I think it was, and knocked. And someone answered. A normal person answered.

She was confused, at first, especially given I didn’t have a package in my hands or any other thing indicating why I was there. I explained that I had come to visit a friend and was having trouble finding the right house. Of course, he wasn’t answering his phone. She laughed and said the house numbers were all messed up on the street, it was no wonder I was having trouble. Then she asked what house I was looking for.

You have to understand, I’m not crazy. I have pictures of the house, pictures with my house number on them and my stuff inside, pictures where there’s enough of the street in the background to tell, even if you’re looking at this alternate version of the place, where the house is supposed to be. The houses that were on either side of it are still there, albeit looking a bit different than I remembered them. And I know it sounds stupid, but I did take those pictures. I didn’t go back and photoshop an entire street to look different, and I certainly didn’t scour the neighborhood looking for an area that looked near enough to fool you. I mean, first house, you’re going to take pictures, right? It was an accomplishment. I’d lived there for a month. Settled in. Settled in enough to know what my own bloody house number was.

At that point I didn’t think anything else was wrong short of the obvious, so I rattled off my own house number to her. The woman frowned. She said, if she was going off the rest of the street, that number should’ve been a few doors down from her, but she knew for a fact that wasn’t one of the numbers because of all the times she and her neighbors had had to swap mail. I asked if she was sure there wasn’t a house with that number on the street. She shook her head, said the postman was careless, that the house numbers didn’t make as much sense as they should so she pretty much knew them all.

At that point I didn’t know what else to do but thank her, make some joke about unreliable friends, and go back to the car. I mean, I didn’t want to just stand around outside anymore- what if she was looking? What if she, you know, called the police? What would I say to them? I lost my house? Misplaced it?

I didn’t know what to do. Where to go. I mean, I could keep driving around, try and leave and come back or something, but if that didn’t fix it what would it accomplish? The nearest person I could call was actually an idiot friend of mine, so I made up some story about being locked out and asked if I could spend a few hours there while I sorted it out. They were understanding enough, sympathetic enough. Been locked out more than a few times back in their uni days. They knew what it was like, they said, you know, the usual. Shit roommates.

I said that was why I didn’t have roommates anymore.

They asked if it had really got that bad.

Now, naturally, I had no idea what they were talking about, so I asked what they meant. And they said they knew me and Marcus never got along, but they thought we’d at least have lasted six months in the same flat.

By this point I was very aware that explaining the situation would make me sound insane, so I decided to pretend I understood. The implications were obvious enough. They thought I lived with Marcus. He actually was an old flatmate of mine, but I hadn’t seen him in a while. Wasn’t like he was the last person I lived with before moving into the house or something, it was just- it seemed out of the blue. Random.

I must have looked like something was wrong, something beyond the massive inconvenience of being locked out, because they asked me if anything was going on. I said no, I was just tired, I was going to go stop by the locksmith, I think? I don’t even remember. I just made an excuse to go back and did. But everything was still the same. Everything was still wrong. Or not wrong, just- different.

Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I mean, I’ll release my medical history to you if you like, no history of hallucinations, any kind of drug use, not even depression. I’ve always managed to sort things out without much more than paracetamol, and I have never, ever seen things that weren’t there. Though I guess that isn’t really the problem.

Eventually there was nothing else for it but to go to where I thought Marcus was living- which was a three bedroom place in Hammersmith- and see if he thought I lived there, too. He did. Said he’d got a message from the other friend, sounding all worried- a call, I think it was. I know my memory isn’t doing me any favors here, but by this point you have to understand I was so disoriented that the only thing I could do was go along with it.

I put the groceries away. Rebuffed all the concerned questions from Marcus. Went into my room- or, more accurately, the room with most of my stuff in it. I couldn’t argue. I’d been through the living room, seen a few bits and bobs I knew were mine, not to mention this huge old armchair I lugged with me from place to place no matter how difficult it was to wrestle it through the door. I have a picture of the chair in my house. Distinctly remember posting it online with some caption like ‘finally got a place of our own.’

The post isn’t there, of course. Even though the picture is still on my phone. That’s what’s so frustrating about it. I have concrete evidence of the house. Evidence that other people can see, I might add. I’ve shown it to people. The pictures. Asked other people I trust- I asked my dad, even- if they noticed anything odd. But all of them would say, nope, just looks like a normal picture. A nice-looking house. Where is that? Was I thinking of buying it? Wasn’t that the coffee table I’d bought a few months ago? My dad had been to visit and he didn’t remember seeing it in the flat. The flat I shared with my old friend. You know, I can always move back in with him if-

But it doesn’t matter. How convinced they all were. Or how equally confused about things I can also remember happening- like buying that overpriced coffee table, which my dad recognized. Of course the only evidence is too flimsy to prove anything. Hell, my damned bank account has evidence of the house. I went back through my statements. The down payment is gone, just on the day it should be, a month and a half ago. Except it doesn’t say what it’s for. That part is blanked out. Just gone. Like the house.

I’ve gone back there three or four times. Everything still feels fine. Normal. Apart from the nonexistence of the house I definitely bought.

I don’t know what to do now. Need a new job. Hopefully someone’s willing to be understanding. I wasn’t actually fired for any good reason, just didn’t file the paperwork properly. Didn’t get the required doctor’s notes or whatever. I wasn’t sleeping. Still not sleeping enough, but I actually do get a few hours a night now and- doesn’t matter. You’ll make up your mind based on more than that and my insisting over and over again I don’t do drugs. If that’s even what you do. The woman who helped me said it isn’t about judgment. It’s about documentation.

So here’s your document. You can have all the pictures if you like. If you research the house you’ll find the same stuff I did- doesn’t exist. No record of it ever being there apart from my photos. Research me, too, if you like. I don’t care. I’d just like to know if you find anything.

Statement ends.

MARTIN

Well. That was- yes. Well. _(clears throat_ ) Mr. Kane has included photos of the house at Hill Top Road and his contact information. And it is most definitely the correct house. The same house. Which, as he said, does not seem to exist anymore, even though I can confirm via my own eyewitness account that the house was still standing shortly before he made this statement. While this one hit a little closer to- home- than I would, er, like, I’m reassured by how disjointed it felt. By how difficult it is to pinpoint, at least for me, any single entity to connect it to. At best it sounds like he sidestepped tragedy, and at worst- well, I guess it could be the Spiral at work. Some of it reminds me of the Stranger, though Kane’s insistence that everyone seems normal and the same just loops me back to the Spiral again. I mean, repeated mentions of ‘I’m not insane’ kind of reinforces that, I suppose. So. Put it in the Spiral drawer? I don’t know. This one reminds me of Sasha and I don’t know why. Reminds me of another old statement, I can’t remember when from, think it was John that recorded it. But that was definitely the Stranger. I’ll have to check the files to see if-

[FOOSTEPS APPROACH; KNOCK ON DOORFRAME]

BASIRA

What are you still doing down here? We’re supposed to be on our way already.

MARTIN

To dinner? I thought that was tomorrow. Wednesday.

BASIRA

Today is Wednesday. March 8th, yeah? Leeann’s birthday was last Wednesday, on the first-

MARTIN

Yes, alright, I know how calendars work, thank you. I just didn’t realize we’d already got through the middle of the week. Feels… earlier somehow.

BASIRA

Maybe if you didn’t come in on Saturdays-

MARTIN

( _quieter, a tinge defensive_ ) I don’t, usually.

BASIRA

( _sighs_ ) We should still get going. Did you want to leave that one of the Admiral’s unnamed progeny in here?

[MEOWS]

MARTIN

Been thinking of a few names, actually. Have to run them by the team. But I the little one will be alright. They’ve got John to look after them, after all.

[A PAUSE, PUNCTUATED BY MEOWS]

BASIRA

What’s the point of this dinner again?

MARTIN

( _laughs_ ) You’re asking me, when I don’t know the days of the week?

BASIRA

I’m asking you because you’re the boss, so you’re expected to know why stupid events like this are going on so you can keep the rest of us-

MARTIN

It’s not stupid, it’s team-building, and we never would have got through that last attempt without it, thank you-

BASIRA

( _hastily_ ) Alright, alright. Got your coat?

[CHAIR SCRAPING]

MARTIN

Yeah.

BASIRA

Meet you up there.

[BASIRA’S FOOTSTEPS RETREATING]

[MEOWS]

MARTIN

You be good while I’m gone. Don’t topple any important-looking stacks of documents.

[MEOWS]

MARTIN

( _laughs under his breath_ ) If you say so. ( _quietly_ ) Goodnight, John. See you tomorrow.

[FOOTSTEPS RETREATING]

[TAPE RECORDER CLICKS OFF]

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know about you but 181 got me FEELING TOO MUCH so uh here's this wrote it before but the feelings... are still here...


End file.
